


In the Days Before

by Starlithorizon



Series: In the Sun [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Female Sherlock Holmes, Femlock, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-08
Updated: 2013-06-08
Packaged: 2017-12-14 06:55:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/834020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starlithorizon/pseuds/Starlithorizon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the way to pick up a few groceries, John is stopped by a sleek black car. The man inside gives him the most important task.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Days Before

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for mentions of drug use.  
> Takes place between "Study in Pink" and "Blind Banker."

John frowned at his flatmate as he passed through the sitting room. Said flatmate was stretched out on the sofa, curly black hair spilled around her placid face like a halo. There were four nicotine patches on her arms, even though he'd _told_ her, _repeatedly_ , not to do so. He made a scoffing noise in the back of his throat, and her eyes opened slowly.

"Four-patch problem?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. The corners of her eyes tightened at what felt like an accusation.

"Yes," she said simply.

"The Moriarty thing?"

"Yes. I've got my network out looking for any information, but so far, it seems no one has heard the name. I still can't figure out if it's an organisation or one person."

John patted the arm of the sofa near her head in consolation.

"You'll figure it out, I'm sure. Anyway, I'm off for Tesco. Want anything?"

She raised her hands and rattled her list off, ticking items on her fingers. "Lye, bleach, tomatoes, plastic cutlery, sugar, some sort of bony fish, and marshmallows."

John shrugged, taking it all in stride. He knew that he would only return with the marshmallows for her, as it was currently her favourite food.

"Right, well, if you want stuff for your experiments, you have to come with me and get it yourself. Otherwise, I'll be back in about an hour."

She sighed in the most put-upon manner and looked up at John through her lashes.

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

Another heavy sigh from the very pits of her being and she allowed John to leave. He smiled to himself as he shut the door and trotted down the stairs.

They had only been living together about a month, and already John was quite fond of the woman. Oh, she was a right git, an idiot of the highest caliber, and far too prone to getting into sticky scrapes, but she was _his_ git. After all, he'd killed that cabbie after knowing her for less than two days. It was a sort of love, if he looked at it honestly. One of those kinds that formed immediately and for life. There was nothing romantic to it, really. It was like... It was like finding home in the shape of an insane, brilliant wraith of a woman.

As he walked the twilit streets, John found himself smiling slightly. Just a month prior, he had done similarly with a psychosomatic limp and a cane in one hand. He hadn't known about the swirling energy that was Sherlock Holmes, and he had walked slowly with the knowledge that that dreary bedsit was not home. It was barely a stopping point, a lonely beige box for him to sleep in and nothing else. Nothing at all like the surprisingly homely mess of 221B.

He turned the corner and let out a deep groan when he spied the tall, lean man standing beside a slick black sedan. The man smiled at John, and it was so oily that anything even resembling emotion just slid right off. Yes, Mycroft was truly the perfect politician.

"Good evening, Doctor Watson," the elder Holmes said, voice genteel as ever. John grimaced.

"Yeah, hi, Mycroft. Here for another chat?"

In answer, Mr Holmes opened the door and gestured inside.

"If you would be so kind."

"My phone does accept calls and text messages, you know," John sniped even as he slid into the sleek black vehicle. Mycroft followed and the door was shut, sealing them in as the car slunk forward.

"I am afraid that it would be best if my sister did not know about this," Mycroft said slowly, choosing his words carefully. "She does take it rather badly when I interfere."

John quirked a brow. "Then why interfere in the first place?"

"Like I told you the last time: I worry about her _constantly_. She is a self-destructive person, John. You know, she was addicted to cocaine for years. She overdosed twice. The second time, I thought—" Mycroft took a deep, seemingly grounding breath. His hands were trembling, only slightly. He turned his gaze on John, face so weary. "I have always been afraid that my sister might destroy herself."

John knew about addicts. Of course he did, his sister was one.

"Why are you telling me this?" John whispered. It didn't feel right listening to Mycroft lay out Sherlock's weaknesses like surgical tools.

"So you know what you're getting yourself into."

The good doctor shook his head vehemently.

"She's clean, she said so herself. Plus, I'm a doctor, I know signs of addiction when I see them, and I _don't_ see them in Sherlock."

"The addiction to which I am now referring is far less chemical than all that. You've lived with her this past month or so. You've worked cases with her. You _know_ which addiction I mean."

And he did. It was puzzles, answers, adrenaline, the proof to her cleverness. He had seen that on the first case. While they were much safer than cocaine (for a given value of _safe_ ), they were addictions nonetheless.

"Was that all?" John asked snappishly. "Did you just come drive by to tell me this?"

Mycroft pursed his lips, considering what he had to say next. When he spoke, it was slowly, like he was beginning a story round a campfire.

"I am not sure whether or not you are aware, but I know that Sherlock is not. My little sister is deeply entangled within a tremendous web of conspiracies."

John snorted. "I'm sure you think that, but it's all coincidence."

Mycroft smiled, and there was something wounded to the tilt.

"Although my sister is convinced the world revolves around her, and although it most certainly does _not_ , it is quite true. She has gotten too close to too many, shall we say, _projects_. She has drawn attention to herself, Doctor Watson. See to it that she is not harmed."

John wanted to scoff at Mycroft's order, but there was something about it that struck him as profound. Here was Mycroft Holmes, quite surely the British government and quite definitely part of the CIA and British Secret Service (at least), asking one humble doctor to keep his kid sister safe.

The army captain bowed his head respectfully.

"Always."

* * *

He lay awake at night, listening to the quiet sounds of the house settling. He never heard the incessant rustlings of his busy flatmate anymore. The violin never soothed him back to sleep after a nightmare. Nothing.

The flat rang empty.


End file.
